Last Time We Kissed_A Second Chance Romance

by Nicole Snow

  I decide to skip the drink because the hot, prickly alcohol rush in my system only makes this worse.

  I head for the big black admiral's desk in my home office, grab a new sheet of paper, and begin writing like a man possessed.

  Unlike everybody else on this planet, I loathe weekends.

  Sundays are a special kind of hell, far too quiet, impossible to find distractions. Even the prospect of a good meal downtown and a walk along the Columbia's banks with spring in full bloom can't fill the vacancy in my soul.

  When I wake up, have my coffee, and pick up where I left off writing at my desk, I ought to know this won't last forever.

  But I never expect the end of my funk to come that evening with the steady, shocking thump at my door. I sit up, throw my pen down, and stop for a second in the hall.

  Probably something benign, I tell myself.

  An Amazon package I forgot or a kid raising money. A kid with balls the size of Saturn, maybe, who's come knocking at a mansion tucked in the northwest's finest natural shade and NO TRESPASSING signs on every corner of my wrought iron fence.

  Hell, I'll buy a couple thousand of whatever he's selling. Just to show him risks sometimes pay off. That thought's a thousand times happier than thinking asshole Jace has finally found his way to my home, and he might be armed.

  There's a gun I keep in a safe under my kitchen sink, but I've never fired the damn thing once outside the range. I briefly pause between the kitchen and the door, wondering if today it wouldn't hurt to tuck it into my belt...but whoever's at the door is persistent.

  They're knocking again. Louder. Harder.

  I rip the door open, half-ready to throw a punch. I'm the one who takes it on the chin.

  “Precious?” I try not to let my jaw hit the floor.

  It's her. In the supple flesh. Here. On my damn doorstep.

  She steps past me without waiting for an invite. “I had to see you. Hope you'll forgive the short notice.”

  Like I've got any choice. “Let's sit,” I say, grabbing her hand. “Let me get you a drink.”

  She gasps when she sees the view. Downtown Portland reigns majestic as ever in the distance, tucked between the trees, the city's lights shimmering like tinsel along the stretch of river.

  It's my turn to stifle a noise. A deep, guttural sound in my throat trying to work its way out, remembering that sound oozing out of her. How familiar it is to another noise I used to taste.

  Fuck, this is bad. I tell myself to play it cool, ignore the anxious hard-on already tenting my pants. I walk to the corner table, pull out a small bottle of good wine I keep for these occasions, and pour two glasses.

  Then, wine in hand, I sit on the ottoman across from her. I'm lost in those big bright green eyes, denser and richer than any cedar forest. Lost and waiting.

  “You're not here to shoot the breeze. Why?”

  She takes a sip and gently clears her throat. “So, I'm sorry for blowing in like this again, but –”

  “You didn't have a choice,” I finish for her. If we're able to keep this brief, maybe there's a chance being alone with this woman in my own house won't end in a fucking disaster. Or a disastrous fuck.

  “What's Jace done this time?”

  She blinks, turns away, as if she can't believe we're hung up on her idiot brother again. “He's coming after you. I think.”

  I soften my stare. “You don't sound very sure. Long trip here on guesswork, Precious.”

  “No. I mean, we've lost track of him, Trent. He spent a solid week trying to put out the fires you'd set. He moved out of our parents' house, said he'd found a place near Tacoma, but dad told me that's BS. I waited a few days, tried to find your number, but you're not exactly the world's most accessible.”

  I smile, swallowing a sip of burgundy sweetness. “True. I like my privacy. It's also more than a little necessary when your net worth's as big as small countries. You know how many lotto winners and celebrities hire permanent body guards?” She shakes her head, tempting my eyes down to the subtle low cut in her purple sweater. “You should've taken the hint, Presh. We did what we had to in Seattle: move on. Remember?”

  Her lips twist sourly. “Sure, about as well as you recall how to stop being a dick when I'm trying to help.”

  Touche. “Well, I'm touched you'd come all the way out here just to check in on me.” I cross my heart, smirking the whole time. That wins me a green-eyed glare. Good. “But in case you hadn't noticed, I'm a big boy. I've built billion dollar companies. Kept myself out of prison, framed for the shit I never did, and came crawling back to the scene of the crime years later to set it right. If I'd wanted, I could've buried your fuck of a brother alive.”

  She's not impressed. Even if she knows it's true.

  Presh shifts on the couch, draining half her wine, searching for words. Her legs uncross and then merge together again, hounding my gaze to her thighs.

  Don't look. Don't let her tempt you. Don't be an idiot.

  “Yet you didn't,” she says matter-of-factly. “You let him go without a knockout. You hit him with scandals that were bound to blow up sooner or later on their own. Why didn't you finish the job?”

  Goddamn, her mouth. Legs, too. She just had to show up in a secretary skirt, didn't she?

  She's dressed like something out of Alice in Wonderland, if Lewis Carroll did erotica. Shy low heels, pale long legs crawling up her skirt, Cheshire cat colored sweater. My cock throbs, drunk on need and the wine's warmth flooding my veins.

  I shake my head, trying to find my senses.

  “Way you're talking, almost sounds like you want me to put him away.” I try to look her in the eye without lust clouding my judgment. What the ever living fuck is she actually doing here if she hasn't come to torture me? “That can't be right. That's not the Amy Kay I know. She'd never flip on kin.”

  “I want him out of trouble, Trent. For good. If that means prison, hopefully something light...” She sighs, looking down at her wine. Then she closes her eyes, opening them again, sadder than before.

  “No, forget it. I don't want him behind bars, either. Unless it's all that keeps him from hurting himself or others. I got my hopes up after I figured out what you were really doing.” She sighs, flipping her hair.

  “Wish he'd listened. Hoped like hell he'd finally get the message after the bloody nose you gave him. But he read your note the morning you left. He barely missed you at the hotel, after you'd checked out. Every day he's not here messing with you is just a delay. Not because he's changed his mind. He's out there, scheming, drunk on bad blood.”

  Speaking of drunk...I can't handle this shit sober. Especially not this subject, while every inch of her teases my cock.

  Standing, I take her glass, and walk over for refills, mulling the wolf who's coming after me. Hiding my anger and the bulge in my pants are top priority, too.

  I'm also pissed the rat bastard found the note I'd left for her parents' eyes only. I push down the urge to smash the almost empty bottle against the wall.

  “Look, you can't control a coward prick. Whatever he decides is on him. Not you. Not your family. You tried, Presh, like any sister should.” I pass her a fresh glass, downing half of mine in one gulp.

  “You've also got a life. The night I paid you a visit through your window, I meant to put this behind us for good. Meant it so fucking much a funny thing happened the next morning – I decided to let Jace go, Amy Kay.”

  She blinks, surprise on her face. “You...what?”

  “That's why I left. Why I came home. Decided I'd forget screwing with Jace, and get on with life. I did what I needed all along: got it off my chest. Told you and your folks what really happened, who Jace is, and that's enough. Confession should be plenty. Even if the prick managed to burn mine before it reached your parents.”

  “Yeah, about that...” She sighs, setting her glass on the end table before she looks up. “Jace dirtied it up, but I kept your note. I just...couldn't bring myself to break the news. Not
yet. Dad doesn't need the stress. And mom? It could kill her.”

  Fuck. Who's side is she really on?

  I take the last of my wine in one sip, then slam my glass down next to hers on the wooden surface so loud the crystal squeals. “Bad move, Presh. I wrote that thing to put this to bed. Thought we had an understanding.”

  “Oh?” Her eyes are bigger, brighter, worried. They don't deter the need to spell out what the hell I wanted, what I needed to happen in Seattle.

  “Don't you get it? I needed to come clean, woman. Don't tell me you're perfectly okay with your folks thinking I'm the drug slinging prick who crashed your car and cost your old man a Senate seat?” My words are hoarse, angry.

  I step closer, take her chin with two fingers, making her look at me. Then I see the storm in her eyes and my asshole rage withers.

  “He's my brother, Trent. My screwed up, impulsive, morally bankrupt, pants-on-head stupid brother.” Her eyes are defiant, unflinching. “I want the truth to come out just as bad as you do. But it needs to be timed right. We've all suffered enough. And right now, I'm hoping we won't just suffer more. I'm scared Jace will make us.”

  She's not lying. Or wrong. Or numb to this hell.

  The tremor on her lips barely hides the fear, her heart splayed wide, weeping for me and Jace alike.

  I pace across the room, fists like boulders at my sides, turning around again once I reach the mantle.

  “He's family. I get it, Presh. Hell, I was done hurting him the second I left, just like I told you. Jace was like family to me once, too, forever ago. Setting his life on fire didn't give me half the satisfaction I found just sitting on the floor next to you, telling my story.” I stand taller, watching her slide off the couch and do the same. She studies me, wanting to come closer, but not knowing if she should.

  “Trent...”

  “No. This crap's partly my fault, but I'll always pin the biggest blame on the reckless fuck who used to be my friend.” Our eyes are magnets and I hate it.

  Longer I stare, losing myself in her soft green madness all over again, the harder it is not to make this about us, rather than the threat hanging over our heads. “All this time, after he screwed me over, I thought I'd sleep easy just watching him burn.”

  A cold smile pulls at her lips. She sees the crack in my armor, the way I try to look away, poison spilling out and thickening the atmosphere. Her heels click across amber Brazil wood until she's so close every part of me goes rigid – especially the last part in the world I should obey. “But that wasn't what you needed. Not deep down.”

  “No,” I admit.

  Don't fucking look at her, I tell myself, a last ditch warning.

  Who am I kidding?

  Next time we lock eyes, I take her hands, clasping them to my chest.

  She's all kinds of beautiful here. All kinds of wrong.

  Invading a world that was always meant to be Precious-free. Maybe that's why her chestnut hair glows with the same seductive sheen in her eyes. She's already taking the fuck over, occupying the very air I'm breathing.

  “Trent?” she whispers my name, forcing my eyes to her small pink lips.

  My dick hammers so hard I think it'll make me pass the fuck out.

  “I needed to clear my name. Needed the truth. Needed...” I stop just short of the obvious, what's right in front of me. “You're killing me, Precious. Fair warning. Last chance to call another cab and walk your sweet ass out.”

  She doesn't move an inch. I can't either.

  There's nothing else to say. Not with any words.

  Not when I wrap my arms around her waist, pull her body to mine, and give in to the only thing that makes sense tonight. Only thing we've ached for since this psycho universe reunited us on a broken down elevator.

  My lips attack hers like a starving animal. That's what she's made me. I've become the wolf branded on my skin. A desperate, battered, single-minded beast.

  My sole purpose isn't to talk this out or stop her brother. That's a million miles away.

  Tonight, it's to strip her naked and cart her off to bed.

  To let fencing tongues and swinging hips figure out what our brains can't.

  To let flesh speak what souls keep trying to get out, and can't through our lips.

  Not without them falling all over each other, unchained, free to suck and kiss and lick until we scream.

  What we've started here can't be stopped.

  My hands snake down the small of her back, hug her hips, and then strike lower. I cup her ass and squeeze, swallowing the moan she purrs in my mouth.

  Fire floods my balls. My legs move automatically and I sweep her up, ferrying us across the room until she's against the wall.

  Our mouths speak in silent kisses. No more words. Just teeth that pull, tongues that chase, half-hooded eyes that meld whenever we stop for a second to breathe.

  Oh, fuck, her breath.

  It's shaky, intense, and tells me she's beyond ready to have her hair in my fist and my full cock buried to the hilt. I'm rock hard, pulsing in my pants, my balls promising hell every second I'm not in her.

  “Not yet,” I bite off, shoving her skirt up her legs, giving the bulge in my trousers the perfect access to her soaked panties. My hips roll against hers, a vicious friction, so damn ready to be in her but not before she begs. “You come for me first. You come hard like I remember. Like I've wanted for six fucking years, Amy Kay, and then we'll move upstairs. You come beautiful with your lips on fire, leaking all over me, lungs pumping overdrive. You come so fucking hard you lose your mind. You come so fucking hard your pussy feels this dick before I'm even in you.”

  She lets out a wicked groan. Poor girl.

  She doesn't understand how serious I am until I dry hump her again, this time harder, pinning her to the wall. I know her clit catches somewhere because this time she whimpers, folds in on herself, too lost for words. Drowning in the same insanity that's consumed me.

  “Trent, shit. You want me to – ohh! Oh.”

  Oh, yes.

  O.

  I sandwich her more against the wall, thrusting harder, a manic grunting need steaming through my teeth. She eases into me, pushing back. We dry fuck just like that for God only knows how long. I snarl my satisfaction once I see her sweet eyes roll.

  It doesn't take long.

  Her body gives up without a fight that can't last more than a few scorching minutes.

  Amy Kay digs her fingernails into my back so fucking hard it hurts. Just makes me go faster, harder, bringing her over the edge. She gives me a shrill, whiny scream as her pussy convulses.

  “Do it!” I throw one hand between her legs, shoving aside her panties, hearing something rip. I'll buy her whatever the fuck she wants in the morning. Something lacy and delicate and just as ready to be destroyed.

  Tonight, she won't need a fresh pair. Everything between her legs belongs to me.

  Her body knows it. That's why it thrashes, seizes deliciously against mine.

  I find her clit and press hard while she starts coming. It brings her off hard, makes her swiftly, completely, furiously mine.

  “Don't. Fucking. Stop.” I tell her, frigging her swollen nub.

  She whimpers louder. I feel her nipples through several layers, aching to be sucked soft. We'll get to that in a bit.

  Right now, I shove my fingers in her, finding the trigger point that makes her come more.

  Sweet fuck, I missed this pussy. This tight silk clenching my fingers, teasing my dick without even touching it.

  Missed her teeth digging into my lip. Missed her trying like hell to stay conscious while her body jerks and twitches. Missed owning her into the next life with my fingers.

  Missed this beautiful woman.

  I let her feet touch the ground again after she fully opens her eyes. She's lost both heels – heard them hitting the floor behind me more than a minute ago – and I'm glad. One less thing to remove.

  I don't give her time to speak, to have any second tho
ughts. I need to get every molten drop in my balls into her, and I need to do it soon.

  She watches my fingers, still drenched in her sweetness, rising to my lips. I suck them slow, then we kiss again. My tongue reminds her the night's young, and she's still very wet.

  She practically leaps into my arms the second I throw her over my shoulder.

  Upstairs we go, my dick pounding like mad in my trousers. Her pussy so ready for more she grinds on my thigh. I'm barely up the staircase before more greedy kisses hit my lips, every little movement of her tongue screaming fuck me.

  Six years. That's not a dry spell, it's a goddamn desert. Half a hellacious decade without the only woman in my bed who's left me wanting her there in the morning.

  Oh, Precious.

  Presh.

  Fuck.

  So much time to make up. So few hours in the night. So many we'll make count.

  We'll kindle fire in every breathless whimper between feral kisses.

  Every slap of my body on hers.

  Every savage O I pull out of her.

  Every bearish load she wrings from my balls.

  I practically cave in the door to my bedroom, kicking it aside, throwing her on the bed.

  My hands go to work on her clothes. Every time I imagined this moment, waking up hard in a cold sweat, I thought I'd take my sweet time.

  Now, I know I'd be insane losing another second without her naked perfection.

  “Precious,” I whisper, devouring her mouth again, touching my forehead to hers.

  My hand slides up her sweater, jerks it over her head, revealing her black lace bra. Her tits are magnets for my hands. She gives me a sly look, pops the clasp, freeing them.

  One look at her nipples, aching for my mouth, and I'm gone.

  Her back arches, a moan escapes her mouth, and her tits meet my mouth. Tasting her pink after all these years makes me more animal than man.

  I suck. Lick. Pull. Stroke every tender end of her in growls, teasing as I go, enjoying it now before I can't resist the urge to suck her hard.

  When I do, her moans deepen. She goes down squirming, grinding her hips into mine, but I'm in control.

  I yank off her skirt as I kiss trails down her soft, sweet skin. I know her pussy's pulsing and wet before my face even reaches it. I take my time, breathing hot and deep against her folds, sweeping a single lick through them.